


wake up in your crystal sky

by ribosome



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Childhood Friends, Confessions, Emotional Constipation, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Gay Keith (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Lance (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Trans Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2020-09-23 04:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20333875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ribosome/pseuds/ribosome
Summary: “Lance—”Lance meets his eyes, followed by a pregnant pause.Keith searches and searches the depths behind the open doors that bare his soul, and only finds one thing: heartache.Keith’s mouth twitches into an awkward smile. “Guess I'm better at cheering people up than you thought.”Lance snorts, and somehow the room is brighter.Keith is sixteen when he promises himself not to utter a word of his feelings to Lance.





	1. baby steps

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter is meant to be a sort of vignette-style precursor  
honestly i cant wait to post the second chapter bc it was my favorite to write ok pls enjoy ily 💞

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 💛

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is an excerpt from "starlight" by jai wolf.

Keith doesn't pine. That's what he tells himself every day.

He can watch Lance's cheeks burn with every brush of Allura's hand on his shoulder, with every soft smile she sends his way, with every laugh that cracks out of her at one of his stupid jokes. He can watch Lance stumble his way through asking Allura on a date, and stumble more miserably when his advances are rejected. He can watch Lance sniffle and sob, curled up on his beanbag after Allura told him she didn't return his feelings, blowing his nose tissue after tissue and wondering what he could've done different. 

Keith rips another tissue out of the box and passes it to Lance, grimacing as the heartbroken boy presses it hard against his wet eyes and whimpers. 

Keith doesn't resent Allura for this. No one can force themself to fall in love. But he wishes it were different, that Allura had said yes, because if she did, he wouldn't have to sit here and watch Lance cry half his body weight in tears.

He doesn't know why Lance asked him to be here. He's not very skilled at comforting people in highly distressed situations.

“I don't know what I did wrong,” Lance croaks, “Maybe... Maybe if I wasn't so—”

“Stop," Keith says firmly, and Lance's arms drop in the middle of his gesture. “You don't need to change yourself. And you definitely don’t need anyone’s permission to love yourself.” 

Lance blinks away some more tears that roll down his cheeks, and slowly, he lets himself smile. It's a hesitant smile, and Keith gets the impression he still wants to drown himself in self loathing. But, baby steps. 

“Thanks, dude,” Lance says quietly. 

Keith loves him, so badly he wishes the only tears Lance would cry would be happy ones, beaming and flushed, the kind of tears you cry when you’ve finally let go of your sorrow. 

Keith doesn't pine.

He can watch Lance fall in and out of love with Allura, and the only thing he could think throughout all of it is—

_ I want him to be happy. _

Keith doesn't pine because his heart doesn't shatter into a million pieces at the idea of Lance loving someone else. Because he’s smart enough to know that Lance already loves him as a friend, and that's enough.

If Lance had felt the same way about Keith, he'd have shown it already. Keith is okay with that.

Keith's love isn't pounding at the gates of his chest, demanding to be let out. It's... it's inching towards the door, not exactly nervous or anxious, but curious. 

“Lance—” 

The gates crack open. 

“I...” 

His heart peeks through.

Lance meets his eyes, followed by a pregnant pause. Keith searches and searches the depths behind the open doors that bare his soul, and only finds one thing: heartache. 

Keith’s mouth twitches into an awkward smile. “It's no problem, man. Guess I'm better at cheering people up than you thought.”

Lance snorts, and somehow the room is brighter. “Don't get ahead of yourself. You've got a long way to go.”

The gates close.

Lance punches Keith's arm softly, and Keith tries to hone in on the warmth of his skin before it pulls away. 

“Yeah,” he says absently. “I do.”

Keith is sixteen when he promises himself not to utter a word of his feelings to Lance.

* * *

“I'm not pining,” Keith tells Shiro one day, a month or so before he's supposed to graduate. 

Underneath the grainy light of the weight room, Shiro, understandably, favors him a look of doubt. 

“I'm serious,” Keith says, dropping the dumbbell he was curling onto the floor.

“Hey, hey,” Shiro points at the dumbbell from where he lies flat on the mat, “You need five more reps and you're done.”

Keith deliberately ignores him. “I'm not pining! What's so hard to believe about that?”

Shiro falls onto his back from a sit-up and shrugs, halfheartedly mulling it over before deciding, “Maybe you're right. Maybe you aren't.”

Keith throws a hand up and slaps it down to his thigh. “_Thank _ you!”

“But if you have feelings for him and you're not pining,” Shiro ponders, slowly sitting upright and rubbing his chin, “Then I think it's unrequited love.”

“Unrequ—” Keith sputters, taken aback. He shakes his head, as if to knock the idea out of his brain. Unrequited love would entail rejection. “I've never even told him how I feel.”

“Well, that's not always the case,” Shiro says matter-of-factly. “You've come to terms with the possibility that Lance won't reciprocate. That's the basis of unrequited love.”

“I... guess so,” Keith mutters. The technicalities are messing with his thought process.

“Why are you so adamant about that, anyway?” 

Keith halts in the middle of bending down to pick up his dumbbell, and raises an eyebrow at Shiro. “About what?”

Shiro makes a vague hand gesture. “About, you know, Lance never feeling the same. Reciprocating.”

Keith straightens up, frowning at his worn out running shoes. He sighs, dropping his face into his hands. “I don't know. I think I've lost too many people in my life to handle losing Lance over something as stupid as a crush. I just... want to love him any way I can.”

Shiro rests his chin on his palm, smiling at Keith with a sympathy that threatens break the walls built around his heart. “Any way you can,” Shiro repeats. “And that means falling for him in silence?”

Keith resolutely gulps down his water, sparing Shiro a response.

“Are you scared you'll push him away if you told him?” Shiro asks.

“No,” Keith mumbles. He sets down his water bottle, dread settling in his stomach like leaves on an autumn day. “I'm scared he'll push _ me _ away.”

* * *

Keith doesn't remember why he's there, just knows that he was supposed to go back home at least two or three hours ago, but he couldn't. Not when Lance cornered him with those stupid puppy dog eyes and begged him to stay for another movie. A terrible sci-fi movie nonetheless, but it seemed to entertain him with its corny tropes and situations. Keith just leisurely sipped his juice pouch and stared whenever Lance would laugh or ramble aimlessly about some topic related to the movie.

“Oh my gosh,” Lance gasps when a new scene commences, “Are those _space_ _elephants_?”

Keith squints. 

“I wonder if they're any different from Earth elephants.” Lance casually grabs the pouch from Keith's hands and brings it to his lips. Keith chokes on air. “Like, do you think alien animals have the same caliber of emotions that Earth animals do? Do you remember hearing that story about the elephant that cried for a whole day after its mother died? Ugh, their little elephant faces are too cute to look that sad. It's so—” Lance makes aggressive squeezing motions, and eloquently finishes, “sad!”

Keith snatches the pouch from Lance’s frantic grasp and leans back against the cushion. “Very.” 

Keith lifts the pouch up to sip, and then freezes almost robotically. His eyes flit to the straw, then to Lance's moving lips, talking a mile a minute, then back to the straw. He grabs Lance's wrist in the middle of a flailing gesture, sets the pouch in his palm, and settles back into his previous position. 

Lance wrinkles an eyebrow, tangent forgotten. “What are you giving this to me for?”

“You drank from it.”

“So?”

“_So,_” Keith says sarcastically, “I don't want your germs.”

“I'm the most hygienic person you know!” Lance says defensively, and then in a childish pout, as if to say _ that's not fair _, “I drank from it after you did and I didn't care about your germs!”

Keith thanks whatever god might exist that it's too dark for Lance to see his face burst into flames. “Cause you're just gross.”

“Are you pulling a no-homo on me right now, dude?” Lance scoffs and nudges his arm. “What's a little indirect kiss between two bros?”

Keith’s resolve cracks like glass on a hot stove.

Lance keeps the juice pouch for the rest of the night.

* * *

“You think we'll still be friends after you go to college?”

Keith's eyes flick up, fixing his gaze on Lance amidst the spots of yellow and purple and blue that pulse into his vision. He's tired, and a little high, but Lance is higher. Possibly floating on his own little cloud among the stars. 

“Sure,” Keith mumbles, squinting at the bright colors from the screen of the television as an old rerun of Spongebob plays out. 

“Yeah?” Lance asks in a thin, wiry voice. 

When he speaks his voice comes out hoarse, and there's a certain undertone that he hopes Lance will ignore.

“You and I... would still be friends, just because,” he declares. His voice is thick and heavy, and he can feel the claws of sleep pulling him in as it wears down his throat. 

Keith only has enough energy to look at Lance from the corner of his eye, and he can't decipher the look on his face. There's something new in his blue, blue, blue eyes. So blue. 

Lance lets his forehead rest on Keith's shoulder, timid grin highlighting the blush that has taken place on his cheeks. Lance raises a limp hand up to grip Keith's bicep, as if to balance himself. 

He softly asks, “Just friends?”

Keith is so high he wakes up the next morning thinking he'd dreamed the entire thing.

* * *

Keith jolts when Lance presses a wettened pad to the cut above his eyebrow. He grimaces, wringing his fingers in his lap. Lance is trying not to let his irritation show through his face, but it does nothing to help the shame swirling in Keith’s stomach. 

“You know,” Lance says, cutting through the silence unexpectedly, “You should really protect your face a little more whenever you tussle with somebody.”

Keith’s nose scrunches up. “Tussle?”

Lance ignores that. “Your face is your moneymaker. Keep it safe,” he tries joking. 

Keith studies his face, and Lance’s eyes dart away. Keith sighs, focusing now on his shoes. “You’re disappointed,” he decides. He doesn’t know why he had to say it out loud; they both knew.

Lance tenses up. “No!” Keith doesn’t seem very convinced, so his shoulders slowly drop. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Keith’s eyes sting, and he blows out a breath to stop his heart from clenching too hard. 

“But I’m also kind of proud.”

Keith looks up, taken aback. He waits for Lance to take it back and list the reasons he should be ashamed of himself, but the look in his eyes is sincere. The backdrop of Lance's kitchen outlines his silhouette in a way that Keith finds he can't look away from, and it momentarily distracts him from the surprise he initially felt. 

"Why?"

Lance smiles to himself. "You were a real jerk when we first met. And an asshole. And rude."

Keith frowns. "Okay, this is—"

"And I realized it's because you were just fighting for yourself."

The mood shifts, or maybe it’s just that the air in Keith’s chest dropped suddenly. But it strikes a chord deep inside him, like it was something he’d always known about himself but never truly admitted. He bristles and asks roughly, “What does this have to do with some dick making a comment towards Hunk?”

“This has everything to do with that!” Lance laughs, a bit cautious as he approaches his next words, “You were a jerk because you only fought for yourself... but after Shiro took you in,” he reaches forward to gently press a bandage to the scrape across Keith’s browbone, “You started fighting for others.” 

Keith's flinches as a tiny jolt of pain shoots through his face. He lets the pain distract him from fully digesting Lance's implication.

But then Lance takes his hand. His fingertips graze Keith's palm, and the world stops.

"I know why you protected yourself," Lance says quietly. He looks too fond. "And now that you have more people to care about, you don't want them to feel the way you did."

Keith feels like his chest is being ripped open and dissected, and his heart pumps with unbridled fear. 

"You wanted someone to protect you."

  


He remembers once hearing that hopes and fears are two different things, yet all the same. The line between them is thick, blurred, and easily confused. Keith had imagined being stopped by a police officer in the middle of the road, being forced to walk that line to prove he hadn't been drinking, wobbly and unfocused and drunk with... something. Something. Somehow he'd stumble and fall onto one side of the line, not knowing whether he'd fallen into a hope or a fear. 

But he guessed it didn't matter, because they were all the same. 

And Lance doesn't know that he's planted the seed. 


	2. all i see is red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ❤

Lance came out to Keith six years ago, two times; once in their school cafeteria, and three weeks later on the porch of Lance's house. 

The first time wasn't that special. Lance had come out to everyone. Keith was simply a box to check off. 

But the second time, things were different. Lance didn't look so confident, borderline scared, and Keith looks back and understands now that Lance was going through a period of denial before he could even utter the words to himself. 

Keith had distantly registered, amid Lance’s nervous rambling, that he was entrusted with something deeply personal. Keith would know, because for a very long time he kept his orientation to himself, and a part of him adopted the front that he just didn’t care about letting it be known. But the moment he finally said the word “gay” to Shiro when he was thirteen, a thousand-pound weight was lifted off his shoulders and his shell was cracked just the smallest bit. 

It felt good. Even better that this was someone close to him, someone he looked up to. And when Shiro smiled at him in this quiet, knowing way, he felt like he was learning to accept himself when he hadn’t even realized he was rejecting it.

So distantly, Keith realized this might be what Lance is doing with him. This might be what Lance has been doing with his parents, his sisters and brothers, and Hunk and Pidge and Allura, and the list goes on. Suddenly, Keith is struck with a deep admiration, because he could never have been so vulnerable and brave with so many people at once.

“You’re my friend,” Keith had said. Lance’s eyelashes fluttered. “That won’t change.”

He considered. 

“Unless you seriously piss me off one day.”

Shocked, Lance choked on his abrupt laughter. 

* * *

There’s a knock on the front door at the same time the lightning crackles sharply outside Keith’s dorm window. He winces, rolls over and yanks the sheets over his head. 

The knocks come more insistently this time, three times in quick succession. 

Keith sighs loud into his pillow, praying he’s just having a really annoying nightmare. Just as he’s beginning to relax back into a deep slumber, the knocks start up again and  _ do not stop _ . 

Keith jumps out of bed, arms tensed and ready to beat the living crap out of whoever’s got the nerve to knock on his door in the middle of the fucking night like some kind of psycho—until he rips the door wide open and sees Lance there, hugging himself and drenched at the knees, tips of his hair dripping onto his damp, reddened face. His left hand is wrapped tightly around a damaged umbrella. 

Lance swallows, prepared to explain himself, but Keith already knows Lance's dorm building is another 15 minute walk away from his own, so he just grabs him by the arm and pulls him inside. He snatches away the umbrella and shoves it in the trash can. Ignoring Lance’s sputters, he throws a couple of extra sheets on the floor and says, “Take my bed.”

Lance jerks his head back, bewildered. “ _ What _ ?”

  
  
  
  


The thunder is relentless. 

Keith stirs, scooching closer against the wall. 

He hears footsteps pad on the floor until they reach the makeshift bed Keith created at the opposite end of the room. Keith wrinkles his eyebrows and tries to listen closely, feigning sleep. The footsteps shuffle for a few moments, like he's deciding whether or not to go back to the bed. Keith can feel the fabric of the sheets stretch, and his heart pounds in time with the thunder when he feels a pat on his shoulder. 

He rolls around to face Lance. The lightning flashes through the window, casting an ethereal glow across his nervous face. Keith knows what he’s going to ask.

“I know that this is... weird, but,” Lance shakes his head, steeling himself. 

_ Say yes, say yes, say yes. _

“I just—Can I sleep with you?”

_ Say yes. _

“Go back to bed,” Keith says, turning his back to Lance. “It’s just a storm.”

The thunder crackles again, and he hears a sharp intake of breath. Lance shifts his weight, and suddenly he's gone.

Keith lays cold for the rest of the night, restless amid the rain beating against the window.

* * *

Lance shares a professor with Keith, and he assumes it's the only reason Lance had even kept in contact with him after high school. Keith transitioned to college with only Allura and Shiro by his side. But he guesses that Lance reconnecting with him through Allura or a shared class was inevitable at some point. 

One year after he left high school, after on and off communication, he receives a picture Lance's schedule. He'd stared at his phone, dumbfounded and frantic beyond belief. 

Ever since then, Lance has made it his mission to share a class with Keith, or Allura or Hunk. But also Keith. He's astounded that he's even an option. And now, in Keith's third year of college and Lance's second, they haven't gone more than a week without seeing each other. It's routine, it's reliable, and the stability amid the stress of school provided Keith comfort. 

Keith walks to his class, hands in his pockets as his sneakers squeak against the floor. He thinks of what he'll feel when he sees Lance again, because it's a thought that won't leave his head. He decides he'll try to relax today. Maybe Lance will offer him chips again, or maybe he'll share his juice bottle. Lance keeps a straw handy for these situations, knowing that Keith is resolutely not okay with swapping spit. 

Or, that's what he had thought, until he walked into the library's private conference room to find Lance sucking face with Jenny Shaybon. 

He'd pulled away quickly and met Keith's eyes with a flushed, bright face. "Hey!" Jenny and Keith flinched, and Lance lowered his voice to a whisper as the door fell shut, "Hi." 

Keith stared at him, stone faced. "Hi."

Lance was smiling harder than Keith wanted him to. Keith caught Jenny wiping at her mouth, tracking the movement with apt focus, and did not reciprocate the awkward little wave she threw him. 

"You know Jenny, right?"

Of course he knows Jenny. Everybody knows Jenny. Jenny's a cool person.

"No." 

"Oh! Well, Jenny this is Keith, and Keith—"

"Are we going to study?" Keith asked abruptly. 

Lance visibly dimmed, but plastered his smile on again. "Yeah, of course. Um..."

"I'll see myself out," Jenny said, grabbing her purse. She smiles at Lance before she closes the door, genuine and sweet. Keith's blood boils. "Call me later."

Lance's grin goes dopey, and this is where Keith tunes out the rest of the exchange. 

Later, as they study in silence, Lance casually asks, "So... what was that about earlier?"

Keith plays dumb. "What was what?"

"You know."

"I came here to study. Not to walk into a makeout session," Keith mutters.

Lance frowns petulantly. "I thought you'd be a little happier about this. I've been into Jenny since forever!"

Keith doesn't give him an answer, paying attention only to the historical passage on the open page of his book. Lance frowns harder, and then returns to his own passage.

Keith hears him flip the page aggressively, so he does the same. 

Lance had never even told him he liked Jenny Shaybon.

* * *

Lance and Jenny are an item now. Keith, understandably, does not know how to feel about this. 

On one hand, it gives him a pleasantly funny feeling to see Lance smiling brighter than the sun without feeling like he had to force it. And on the other, Keith couldn't help the dread that festered at the pit of his stomach when he saw the looks they shared. 

But they're an item now, and Keith just has to live with it.

Lance comes to him one day after a movie night at Shiro's place. Everyone else had dozed off, covered in blankets and dog-piled in the living room. 

Lance extracts himself from Hunk's embrace and shifts toward Keith, lounging on a loveseat by himself. He plops himself down and smiles at Keith. 

"So," he says conversationally, laying back. Keith watches how his hair fluffs up cutely. "... How've you been?"

Keith stares. "What?"

Lance averts his eyes. "I mean, I just, I can't help but notice you're a little—apprehensive... of Jenny. In a more intense way than usual."

Keith blushes and looks away from Lance. 

Lance seems to gain some look of understanding and fondness, and he leans back up to put his hand over Keith's. His heart, coincidentally, stops at the very same time. 

"I know you're afraid she might hurt me, but you've got nothing to worry about, man." That's only one reason Keith's apprehensive, but he doesn't say as much. Lance nudges his shoulder. "I'm tough as a rock now. I'm... I'm strong as steel," he laughs.

"You are," Keith says, one hundred percent honest and a little angry. "But you still have a heart."

At that, Lance's smile dims. But he gently falls onto Keith's shoulder, still holding his hand, and Keith decides he can feel at peace for this one moment.

* * *

Jenny breaks up with Lance two months later. Something about different goals and life perspectives. 

Lance is sniffling and rubbing his nose with a tissue, sprawled out on Keith's dorm bed. Keith sits at the foot of the bed, hands him another tissue, glaring at Lance with too much heat. He wills his frustration down forcibly, but then  Lance lets out one particularly heartbreaking sob that makes Keith's heart clench uncomfortably, and it makes him angrier. 

"I don't know what I did wrong," he whimpers, "I just wanted to—"

"What you did wrong was open yourself up to someone that doesn't even know you," Keith says. His tone is harsh and clipped, but he can barely control it.

Lance is taken aback. "But I—"

"That was the reason I didn't trust her," Keith cuts him off, because he can't stand to hear another word of self-deprecation from Lance. "Because you just, you just let people in without even thinking! Why would you give all of your trust to someone you just fucking met?" 

He shouldn't have cussed. He knows he shouldn't have, but he can't stop himself now. His blood is boiling too hot. 

"I told you things wouldn't end well and you didn't listen, and look where that got you."

At the time, Keith thought that this was what Lance needed to hear. To be given a bit of tough love, and to be faced with the consequences of his actions. That's the only way some people learn.

But Lance looks at him now, with twice the heartache in his eyes than Keith has ever seen him spare for anyone else, and says quietly, "A year ago you would've told me it wasn't my fault."

He gets up and leaves without another word.

Keith lies down and he thinks that, not for the first time, he should have kept his temper in check. 


	3. the night we met

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 💜

The first time Keith laid eyes on Lance, he felt nothing. 

He supposes the first thing he really noticed about Lance was only a fleeting thought about how clear his skin was, then he looked away and continued on with his classwork. But Lance was a force to be reckoned with, and he had set his mind on competing with Keith for the highest average in their respective grades. 

Despite the fact that they weren't even in the _ same grade_.

It boggled Keith to no end, but through the experience he made friends with Allura, and steadily Hunk, then Pidge. 

Lance was unsurprisingly the last one to warm up to him. Keith was truly unimpressed.

Seventh grade found Keith in class one day, and Lance came storming into his homeroom. Keith sets down his pencil, ignoring the glances of his classmates. 

Lance slams a piece of paper onto his desk. Keith recognizes his own handwriting. He knits his eyebrows together, wondering what he did to rile Lance up this time.

"You _ stole _ my science project idea," Lance accuses.

Keith turns his look of confusion from the paper to Lance. "I worked on this for weeks—"

"It was _ obvious _ that aerodynamics was going to be my thing this year! I talk about it everyday!" Lance is getting a little indignant at this point, upping his volume, but thankfully the rest of the class is now caught up in their own chatter. 

Keith doesn't get a chance to respond before Lance shoves Keith's science project blueprint into his chest and seethes, "You're just a jerk."

Adrenaline pumps through Keith's veins like a rapid, and he has to breathe deep to stop himself from lashing out. As Lance turns on his heel to make his dramatic exit, Keith thinks to himself that he has never met someone so unbelievably one dimensional and insignificant.

  
  
  


That was a perfect, blissful ignorance he’ll never be able to return to.

* * *

Keith's feet pad lightly across the floor of the dim-lit hallway. The light from the school's gym beams through the half-windows, spilling out into the hall and almost painting a path for Keith to the adjoining display room. The bustle and chatter from the gym calms down to a hum as he steps through the door and closes it behind him.

Directly in his line of sight, Lance is having a meltdown in the middle of the quiet, empty room. He's hurriedly gluing strips of text on his cardboard layout and frantically whispering to himself. 

Keith doesn't know how to alert him to his presence, so he just speaks without pretense. "Ms. Anders said you need to be at your stand in twenty minutes or you're disqualified."

Lance jolts violently, and papers go flying all over the floor. He curses and drops down to scoop them up as fast as possible, shooting a glare at Keith that he thinks is supposed to be threatening but just comes off desperate, like he's trying to find something to blame for the world crumbling around him.

Keith kneels down to help him, but falters when his hand is slapped away. He watches Lance scramble. "I thought your project was finished."

"It _ was _, I just—" He struggles to finish, instead focusing on stacking the papers in his hands. 

Keith raises an eyebrow. "Just?"

Lance huffs, getting to his feet and turning to his poster board. "Nothing. You wouldn't get it."

"Get what? That you were lazy?"

"You're a jerk," Lance says again, fiercely enough that Keith believes it might be true. He might be a jerk. Lance goes on before Keith has a chance to let the thought linger. "Everything is just handed to you and—I mean, do you ever consider that maybe some people have to work a little harder than you to—just—Ugh!" Lance balls his hands up and presses them into his eyes, and he stays there, still. Breathing in and out.

Keith stares, unsure of what to say. His shoulders cave into himself, and his chest suddenly feels very heavy. He stands up and moves to the desk, grabbing a glue stick and a random slip of text. Lance peeks out from his fist.

"Where does this one go?" Keith asks gently. 

Lance doesn't move for a few seconds, the look on his face softened and a touch embarrassed. He slowly points to the inner corner of the poster board. Keith begins to swipe glue on the back of the paper. They work together in silence, and Lance's shoulders gradually relax.

"... Work a little harder to what?" Keith eventually asks.

Lance looks at him, lost.

"You said some people have to work harder to... what?"

Lance blushes, then frowns at the construction paper he's gluing. "My project was finished," he says instead of answering. "And it was really good. I was proud of it. But then I asked some of the science teachers to review it for me, and they always found something new that I did wrong. They gave me examples of," he pauses, like he came across a bitter memory, "other students' work, and I couldn't... help myself." 

Lance looks at his nearly finished science fair presentation, less with pride and more with a somber disappointment. Keith thinks he's too young to wear a facial expression like that. 

"You kept reworking it," Keith realizes. The meltdown is starting to make sense.

"For nothing," Lance mumbles, dejectedly tossing away the glue. 

Keith scrutinizes the presentation, and he can't come back with a criticism harsh enough to warrant half the effort Lance put into it thus far. But maybe that's due to all the alterations Lance made. He feels uncomfortably placed, like he now knows something he shouldn't. 

"I should've talked to you before I chose my topic," Keith says. 

Lance crosses his arms. "I don't need your apology."

"I know you like aerodynamics," Keith continues, staring straight at the project and everywhere but Lance. "You like the color blue because it reminds you of the sky and you want to be a pilot one day and fly into space. You like taking care of your skin because you want to be the best-looking alien to other lifeforms in space and you want to travel the universe. You want to live in a cloud because you once said that the sky is like the universe's shore. Whatever that means," Keith mutters, bright red. 

Lance is watching him with wide eyes, and Keith thinks his cheeks are as red as his own.

"So I should've talked to you about it. Because I knew," Keith declares.

Lance swallows, pointedly turning his gaze away. He reaches for the corner of the desk, and begins pulling at its wheeled legs. "Help me out here," he demands. 

Keith helps him wheel his project into the gym, and he notices the shakiness of Lance's fingers, the way his eyes crinkle in delight when spectators compliment his work, the smile that spreads across his face when he starts blasting out a well thought out and eagerly performed presentation. He notices many things in this moment, and cannot stop himself from lingering, leaving his own project abandoned in another section of the gym. 

_ "Some people have to work a little harder to—" _ Be noticed.

Keith watches Lance's smile diminish into the ghost of one as the top three participants are named and applauded, and a single thought sticks to the forefront of his mind.

Lance is not a simple, ordinary boy.

  
  
  


Keith looks back on that memory and wishes desperately that Ms. Anders had asked someone else to fetch Lance that day.

* * *

Being Lance's friend was a commitment he didn't realize he'd signed up for. Lance was high maintenance, and had high expectations and high standards. Or at least Keith thought so. It felt that way.

Keith had once holed himself up in his room for three days following a nasty fight with Shiro, drowning himself in the adolescent feeling of being misunderstood. He was surprised to find Lance pounding on his bedroom door, demanding to be let in.

Lance has always tried to break Keith's walls down.

Keith didn't say anything, so Lance went down to their basement, found old keys on hooks that Shiro had nearly forgotten existed, and tried every single one on Keith's bedroom door until he'd gotten it open on the fourteenth try. Keith was stunned, and could only stare as Lance yelled at him about how worried Shiro was, how stupid he was being, how he can't just do that to someone he cares about. 

Keith didn't leave the room without bickering with Lance for at least a few minutes. He had gone downstairs where Shiro was waiting, and tears poured out of Keith's eyes immediately. Shiro had leapt out of his chair and engulfed Keith in a hug without a second thought. 

As Shiro calmed him down, with his chin on Keith's head, giving him apologies for things that were definitely not his fault, Keith knew all at once why Lance had such high expectations of his friends. Why he tried so hard to do things that Keith often thought were fruitless.

He looked over Shiro's shoulder to see Lance waiting in the hallway, looking at his shoes with his eyes glistening a little.

"It hurts me to see my friends hurting each other," Lance said to Keith the next day. "I had to smack some sense into you or I'd go insane."

Keith doesn't blame him anymore. 

  
  
  


Shiro should have been the one to find the keys. 

* * *

Lance has not spoken to Keith in three days. 

Keith watches Lance’s face split into a beautifully radiant smile for Hunk at the other end of the cafeteria and his heart twists and wrings like a mop. 

This, he thinks, is worse than never having loved Lance at all.


	4. blue eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 💙

A lot of things happen when you fall in love. 

In Keith's experience, there's a rush of adrenaline at the very thought of their presence. This is easily mistaken for infatuation; the key difference being you wish less for them to notice you and more to simply... exist beside them. 

You learn a lot about yourself. Keith learned that he had trust issues that are not-so-forgotten, along with an unending fear of abandonment. Maybe it was obvious, but he had long thought those issues were resolved the moment Shiro called him his brother for the first time. But things never change overnight. 

He also learned that love comes with many trials and tribulations, bumps in every road that you have to overcome alongside the person of your affections, whether it be platonic or romantic or familial. 

With Shiro it had been easy. He was patient, and he understood Keith.

Lance, on the other hand, was lightyears away from comprehending even an ounce of Keith's feelings for him. 

This, of course, makes things much harder for Keith.

* * *

Lance doesn't actively avoid Keith. 

Keith's heart pumps loud enough to deafen his ears the moment Lance walks through the door to their shared Chemical Engineering class. Lance takes his seat beside Keith and doesn't spare him a glance, nor a word. He doesn't seem angry, or passive aggressive. He just spaces in and out, scribbles onto his notebook, and continues on as if everything was normal.

Keith doesn't know how to read the situation, so he doesn't. He lets it be.

* * *

Keith counts the days that Lance hasn't talked to him. Six.

The ceiling fan is giving Keith the biggest headache of his life. Allura's bed is unsurprisingly soft and comfy, like he's laying atop a cloud of marshmallows, but it does nothing to help his deteriorating confidence.

Allura lies next to him, looks at the ceiling fan with him. 

"I love him," Keith says, unexpectedly. It's the first time he's told anyone else but Shiro. He doesn't know why.

Allura laughs and leans her head on Keith's shoulder. "I know. We all do."

"Oh," Keith says. His cheeks flare up so bad that his jaw starts sweating. 

"Don't worry," Allura reassures, curling her arm around his bicep. "Things will get better."

And that's enough to make his throat seize up. Her warmth seeps into his side, and it's mortifying that he can feel the tears gathering at his eyes. She doesn't move away when his chest jumps at the first silent sob. It feels like she grabs on tighter, even as he glares at the ceiling fan, tears spilling down his temple and making his ears feel all wet and gross. 

He's crying in front of someone that's not his brother, and it's not as bad as he'd always imagined it would be. It feels freeing. Like he's been waiting his whole life for someone to bare witness to his inner being, and everything he's held inside. Allura doesn't say anything, and Keith understands it's because she doesn't need to. She is simply beside him, and that in itself is more comfort than Keith thought he needed. 

Keith lifts his hand and sets it on top of Allura's. He understands now why Lance always came to him to cry. 

* * *

Keith has always loved Lance's eyes. 

Lance would often complain that they were too dark, too dull. But he didn't realize just how captivating they were when you took in the bigger picture. The arch of his eyebrows and the wave of his eyelashes and the glow of his cheeks—it was like everything fell into place. 

Lance's eyes glimmer when he's sad. It's beautiful, in an absolutely shameful way. How could anyone be beautiful when they're sad? 

When he cries, it's like the dam of a deep, endless river has broken and the water runs free and rapid. And watching each tear trickle down makes Keith's chest emptier and emptier, turning it into a hollow cavity.

This is all he thinks of when he comes face to face with Lance for the first time in a week. They stand in Pidge's dorm, waiting for her to return with the promise of a desperately needed stack of printer paper for Lance and a new flashdrive for Keith.

"Funny she said she'd get that stuff for both of us at the same time," Lance tries to joke, but it falls flat because all Keith does is stare.

Lance frowns at his feet, blinking hard. Keith knows he's sad, but doesn't want to show it. 

Keith never really knows how to approach subjects like this so he jumps right to it. 

"I'm sorry," he blurts. "For everything I said. To you."

Lance stiffens like a board at the unexpected apology. His eyebrows raise, then wrinkle, before he turns to Keith apprehensively. 

"You don't have to say sorry just 'cause you feel obligated."

"I'm not—I don't feel _ obligated_." Keith knows right off the bat that he sounds a little too defensive, but he can't help himself.

"Whether or not that's true," Lance turns away, staring at the door desperately enough that it gives Keith anxiety, "What you said really hurt. I need... some time."

Keith doesn't want to wait anymore. He's been waiting his whole life to share everything inside of himself with Lance, to finally open up and connect with him in a way they never have. Lance is hurt, but Keith is suffering, and in the moment he feels it overpowering any consideration he'd held for Lance.

"Just fucking listen to me," he demands, rude and abrupt. 

Lance whips his head around to glare at Keith, furious. His eyes are glistening and they are so, so blue. "You know what? I'm done with this." He storms out of the room with such haste Keith can see the indents of his footprints disappearing as the seconds go by, and he stands stiff, disbelief trickling into his chest. How had that gone so wrong so fast?

Pidge casually walks into the dorm a minute later, a stack of papers in her arm and a flashdrive in hand. "Where's Lance?"

Keith's hands clench, and his face is suddenly wet all over. Pidge's expression drops.

Everything is a blur after that. Pidge frantically and awkwardly tries to comfort him, and it's enough to calm him down for the moment. Pidge holds his hand as she urges him to breathe evenly. Her hand is small, and it's different from Allura's but just as warm. 

Eventually Pidge stops rambling, and cautiously asks if there's anything she could do for him.

Keith shakes his head. "No," he laughs wetly, "This is good enough."

Pidge doesn't smile back, and Keith ignores the sympathy in her eyes.

* * *

Keith had anger issues growing up. That much is obvious. 

Hunk knows this, as well. He was there when Keith punched the everloving hell out of James Griffin in middle school. Granted, he didn't really understand Keith that well back then. It was early on and Hunk was still terrified of him at that time.

So when he's sifting through Keith's old folders in search of a collection of notes he'd taken in an engineering course that Hunk's preparing to take in the upcoming semester, he comes across a crumpled paper that seems out of place. It's horribly wrinkled and some of the penciled writing is now smudged. The handwriting itself is messier and less refined than Keith's handwriting now.

Keith looks up from his phone when he hears the shuffling cease. He freezes.

"What's this?" Hunk asks. He straightens the page out and starts reading anyway.

Keith leaps off his bed and snatches the paper away. "None of your business," he says, folding it into a small square and shoving it in his pocket. 

Hunk stares at him, trying not to smile. "It was about James?"

Keith's face heats uncomfortably. "It's not what you think. I didn't like him."

"Yeah, no, I get that. But you wrote about him."

Keith can't deny that, so he doesn't respond. 

Hunk lets his smile crack and leans his chin on his palm. 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut and relents. "It was when I punched him. Shiro told me the best way to deal with unchecked anger was to get all my feelings out on paper. So I wrote about it, and it... helped a little." He rubs his neck. "Not enough to stop me from punching Iverson in the face, though."

Hunk barks out a laugh. "I remember that! You were so close to getting expelled."

Keith plops down on his desk chair and turns away from Hunk. He focuses intently on his English textbook, hoping for the topic of discussion to fade away before he dies of embarrassment. 

A loose sheet of notebook paper floats gently onto the book before him. Keith blinks.

Behind him, Hunk carefully places a hand on his own. "I know what's going on with you and Lance, and I know there must be more to it."

Hunk says no more after that, and holds out a pen. The inked ballpoint tempts Keith, and he realizes he's helpless to indulgence whenever it comes to Lance. There's no reason to hold himself back now.

Keith hesitantly takes hold of the pen, and places the point to the first line of the sheet. 

A teardrop blots the center of the page. And another.

He's crying again. He's crying and his chest is so tight and– 

Hunk wraps his arms around Keith from behind, all too forgiving. Keith thinks his heart has just about reached its limit because he can feel the swell of sadness extend to his fingertips, as if Hunk's warmth has allowed his emotions to finally roam free from the confines of his caged up throat. 

The tears drip onto Hunk's jacket sleeve, but he doesn't complain.

* * *

Keith has just stopped crying when he knocks on Lance's dorm door. But then the door opens and he's standing there, with his stupid robe on and his face glistening and somehow Keith knows he's just washed off a facemask because he knows Lance's routine too well to be confused, and it's too much for him again.

Keith's vision goes blurry. He blinks angrily, and the tears go falling down his cheeks and trailing down his neck. It wets his collar, and Keith feels like he's soaked in rain. 

Lance looks at him like a deer in the headlights, dumbstruck and frozen in place. 

"I wanted," Keith pauses when his voice wavers. He swallows, and continues, "I wanted to...tell you I'm sorry. Again."

Lance blinks at him. 

"I mean it. And I meant it before," Keith says ardently. He sniffles, and he knows his face must be red as a tomato. He shoves down the embarrassment. "I know why it hurt you so much now. You just needed me to be there, and all I did was," he breathes shakily, "make you feel worse." 

Lance's eyebrow twitches.

Keith, by some miracle, keeps talking. "I cried to Allura," he admits. "And Pidge. And Hunk. I get it now. I was just angry, with you and Jenny and," he cringes, "myself."

Lance's grip on the door handle tightens.

"I just," Keith's voice breaks, the tears begin to well up and spill over his eyelashes, and he feels the dam burst, "I can't stand being without you."

Lance jumps forward so fast Keith barely sees it past his watery vision. His arms wrap around Keith so tightly he feels he might break, and his cheek presses to the damp skin of Keith's neck. Keith thinks it must be gross and sticky, but Lance makes no move to back off. One of Lance's hands trail up his neck and into his hair, and gently brushes through the strands. Keith's breath stutters. 

"It's okay," Lance says into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, too. It's okay."

Keith's arms find their way around Lance on their own, seeking that warmth and solace. 

"Just, God," Lance laughs brokenly, "Please don't cry. I never want you to cry because of me."

But Lance still doesn't understand that Keith will do so many things because of him. He'll cry and yell and make bad decisions, and good ones, and he'll twist and tumble and break a thousand times over because of Lance. He'll do everything, to feel it because of Lance and find himself through Lance. The ache is only a small price to pay for this. 

Keith's shoulder feels damp with tears that don't belong to him. He thinks of those blue, blue eyes.

Just this.

* * *

Shiro glances up from his laptop when his front door opens, and does a double take. He abandons the laptop to rush to Keith and cradle his face in his hands. 

"What's wrong? Did something happen?" He asks it with so much worry that Keith can't even bring himself to feel annoyed that his face is being squished between a human and prosthetic hand. He loves Shiro too much.

"No," Keith says quietly, gently pulling each hand away. "I'm okay."

It surprises him how much he truly means it. It's genuine. It's real. 

He says it again to let it fully sink in.

"I'm okay."


	5. post-bellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 💚

_ I know what I'm feeling isn't wrong, but everything hurts now. It never did, not before you held my hand and told me you understood me. And now everything is different. I'm different, you're different, our friends are different. _

_ How do I fit into the way things have changed? _

_ Because even though it hurts, I don't want everything to go back to the way it was. _

_ It felt like I was asleep. _

_ I was asleep for a long time. It was dark, but I wasn't scared. I was comfortable. _

_ But then I dreamt of you. Everything faded away and nothing was real. Your hand touched mine, and suddenly I was pulled back. There was no warning. I was pulled back into the world. I was somewhere new. _

_ And I woke up in your crystal sky. _

  
  
  
  


And his heart stands wistfully behind the closed gates.

* * *

There are five different emotional stages that people endure when they begin to grieve. These stages come naturally in a distinct order, no matter the severity of that which they grieve. 

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and lastly, acceptance. 

But no one has died. 

So what the hell was Keith grieving?

* * *

Lance looks happier these days. Ever since they made up, something about him has softened, almost like he's shed an extra skin. He's no longer putting up a front. 

He's also a lot touchier. Keith suspects Lance might have a thing for hand-holding. And using people as cushions. 

Lance's hands are soft in his, and as Keith sits at the foot of the couch with the boy's head on his shoulder, he wonders how he got to this point; this level of casual intimacy breaks at least one boundary. It has to. Because if it doesn't, then that means Keith is just in love with him.

The glow of the television is making him starry eyed. He smiles to himself, flexing his fingers in their intertwined grip. 

Lance turns it into a thumb war in two seconds flat, because they can never have nice things. Everything has got to be a competition. Keith tackles Lance's hand, pressing his thumb down to signal his victory, but Lance doubles over snorting and laughing. 

"I want—" His laughter is steadily dying down, "I want a rematch."

Keith is very much in love.

* * *

Keith has never felt this kind of peace before. He can finally and honestly say that he's no longer pining; no longer secretly wishing for his feelings to be returned. Because the burning need had always rested underneath his outer facade, and his want for Lance to be happy. But now, it's real.

He, himself, can be happy without Lance loving him back. 

There's something beautiful about acceptance. It centers you. It puts your heart at ease. 

"You've got that look on your face again," Keith remarks one afternoon. It's summer break, and they're sitting out on the front porch of Lance's house. 

Lance hides his grin by slurping up his applesauce pouch. He's an absolute child. 

"So who is it this time?" Keith asks. "Alice? No, wait. Luke? Please don't tell me it's James."

"Ew," Lance grimaces through his laughter, "You don't think my taste is that bad, do you?"

"It's questionable."

Lance laughs, leaning back cross-legged on the rocking chair. He looks off, eyes wandering around the neighborhood. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to know this time."

Keith rolls his eyes and snatches Lance's applesauce from him. He brings it to his lips, startled when Lance chokes in surprise. 

Keith wrinkles his eyebrows. "What?"

Lance's cheeks are burning up, and he stares at Keith like he's committed a heinous crime. 

"Nothing… I guess."

Keith keeps the applesauce pouch for the rest of the afternoon. 

* * *

"Crystal sky..." Lance whispers to himself, staring down at the wrinkled piece of paper on Keith's desk. He hears footsteps approaching from the hallway and hastily shoves the paper into his pocket. 

Keith peeks into the bedroom. "You find the syllabus you left?"

Lance stares at him, tight-lipped, and nods stiffly. 

* * *

Lance's porch is a bit of a comfort space to them now. If they stayed out late enough, his mother would often pop out to let them know when lunch or dinner is ready for them. She treats Keith like he's another child to her.

Of course, she does it to all their other friends, but it makes him feel special. 

Tonight, he doesn't know why Lance has called him here. Keith himself doesn't live far, but he usually doesn't come by more than twice a week. 

Lance is no longer sitting on the rocking chair, but on the loveseat that Keith usually occupies. He's looking down, lost in thought. They've sat in a comfortable silence for a while now, but Keith thinks there must be something on his mind.

"Okay," Keith relents, "What is it?"

"Huh?"

"What did you wanna talk about?" 

Lance looks embarrassed that he'd brought that up, so Keith, of course, continues just to spite him. "You look like you're trying not to say anything, but I'm kinda hungry and I wanna go inside for those cookies your brother made, so—"

"I just have a question," Lance rushes out.

Keith pauses. "Uh, okay?" It throws him off how nervous Lance seems to ask it. 

Lance turns his body to face Keith. "Be honest with me. Please."

Keith isn’t proud to admit he’s actually a little scared now. This is unusual and weird and—why would Lance be scared of anything he has to say? 

Lance glances down, then up into Keith's eyes. He asks quietly, "Do you love me?"

Keith's heart pops in his chest. But he calms down remarkably fast, and raises an eyebrow. "Yes? You're one of my closest friends."

"No," Lance shakes his head, frustrated, and Keith feels like his heart has actually exploded when Lance reaches up and gently holds his face. Stares into his eyes with a look that he's seen so many times before but never this close. Never right in front of him. "I mean—do you _ love _ me?"

Hearing those words come out of Lance's mouth terrifies him. His heart beats a thousand times per second and he's sure that Lance can feel it. He was so sure—so sure this moment would never come, that he would live on the rest of his life and Lance would live his without ever knowing how Keith had ever felt. 

Lance's eyes are pleading now. "Tell me."

Keith can't say anything, because if he does, the last thread holding their friendship together will rip, and he's sure of it. 

So instead he swallows to steady his voice, and asks, "Why?"

Lance's hands falter, and he looks conflicted. "You said I'm one of your closest friends. Don't I have a right to know?"

Deep down, Keith knows he's right. Semi-right, at least. And damn it. There's no point in keeping it a secret anymore. There's no point in watering it down. 

Lance waits patiently. Keith has never known him to wait for anything. 

"I'm in love with you. A lot." Keith cringes, face heating up enough to make his brow sweat and feeling like he should stop there, then blurts, "I've loved you since we were kids." 

Lance's eyes widen. 

Keith reaches up to put his hands on top of Lance's and slowly pulls them down. He holds them, miraculously keeping eye contact.

"I still love you," Keith says under his breath. 

Lance swallows slowly, hands slipping away from Keith. He turns away, staring off into the neighborhood. Keith doesn't look away from him as he does so. 

Seconds and minutes pass by, and Lance is still lost in silence. Maybe he's thinking, or maybe he's trying not to. Keith doesn't know what to make of his facial expression, and he figures he should feel more anxious than this; this is the moment that he'd tried so hard to avoid the entirety of their friendship. But it's already happened and gone. 

So he lets it be. 

He looks over the neighborhood with Lance, and simply asks, "Wanna go eat those cookies?"

* * *

Lance, as Keith has learned, is stubborn, goal-oriented, and more often than not, outrageously scared of making mistakes. He has an unending need to prove himself. He thinks he's not good enough. He loves and cares more than his heart can handle. He mixes logic with emotion. He has too many defense mechanisms to count on one hand. 

He's had his feelings ripped to shreds so many times that being vulnerable with his own friends was a step too big to take until late into high school. 

And despite knowing all this, Keith thinks that Lance might have... leapt farther than he could handle.

Lance, having been in need of a break after his week of midterms, is spinning in Keith's living room to some pop song playing on the TV, probably feeling fuzzy and light after sneaking some of Shiro's leftover liquor. Shiro, himself, is in Keith's room organizing his closet because he can never stop being so damn motherly. 

Keith walks into the living room, catching Lance mid dance-number, absolutely horrified by the music that he's got blasting on the speakers.

He shuffles to where the remote is lying on the ground and snatches it up, and time moves way too fast for him to catch up.

Lance shrieks, "Hey, don't turn it off!" and lunges towards Keith, who's snickering evilly now, forgetting how much he hates the song in favor of pissing Lance off.

"_ Stop _," Lance demands, trying desperately not to laugh as Keith keeps the remote out of his reach. Keith dodges a few of his attempts to grab the remote, sidestepping and God, does Lance hate athletes and their acquired finesse. 

But the mood shifts as quick as lightning when Lance decides to forego taking back the remote and grabs Keith's face, damn near squishing his cheeks in his hands and pulls him in.

Lance freezes just before their lips meet. His hands are still squeezing Keith's cheeks, puckering him up like a fish. Keith's arm is in the air, loosely holding the remote. Time is forgotten.

Keith blinks. Lance pulls away suddenly, red in the face and flustered beyond belief.

"Sorry, I—" He shakes his head, turning away, "Sorry, I'm sorry."

Keith drops the remote, the sound of it clanking to the floor almost deafening despite the pop song still blaring, and slowly walks back to his room, where Shiro is still folding his clothes. 

Shiro raises an eyebrow from the closet door. "I thought you were gonna watch a movie."

Keith slumps onto his bed, not bothering to pull the sheets on. "I'm good."

* * *

"Hey."

Lance jolts and snaps his head around to see Keith standing a foot or two away from the park bench he's sitting on.

Lance stutters on air for a second. "Hi."

"Hunk told me you'd be here," Keith says as he takes the spot next to Lance. Lance stares at him carefully as he does so. 

Lance bounces his knee restlessly, getting straight to the point. "I'm really sorry for what I did."

"To be honest, I don't even really know what you did," Keith confesses. He squints as a ray of sunlight pierces his eyes through the leaves of a tree. "What was that about?"

That's a tough question to answer, and Keith knows it. But Lance doesn't look away this time, even if they both know that he wants to, that the vulnerability is making him freak out. Keith knows the feeling all too well, which is why he waits patiently for an answer.

He doesn't get the one he expects. Lance huffs, whiney and sad. "You're one of my best friends," he says reverently, as if it should explain anything. 

Keith stares at Lance's bouncing knee. "... Okay."

Lance huffs again, this time more impatient. 

Keith thinks the way they're both acting is sort of ironic. 

"Why are you so calm about this?" Lance demands, eyes all scrunched up in a way that makes his eyelashes touch his eyebrows. He's beautiful even in moments like this. "I tried to take advantage of your feelings!"

"To grab a remote," Keith says, looking at Lance like the reason is self explanatory. "Yeah, it was kinda stupid, but I got over it."

That makes Lance even angrier. "That's not the point! The point is I made you feel... suckish."

"I'm over it," Keith says with finality. 

"This isn't about being over it, Keith. Just because you like me, it doesn't mean I could—"

"I don't just like you, I _ love _ you," Keith says suddenly. The urgency in his own voice almost startles him, surprised over how little control he had over himself in that moment. Lance's eyes become sad and sympathetic, and Keith would hate it if he wasn't so deeply enamored by how soft and blue they are. 

Lance puts his hands on Keith's shoulders, ensuring they're fully facing each other, and levels him with a fierce, stern gaze. "Don't try to stop being mad at me. Especially when I deserve it." 

"But..." Keith hopelessly tries to think of a reason for the way he feels, and how to put it into words, but he surfaces empty-handed. 

Lance's palm then lies gently on Keith's cheek, like gravity forced it there. Keith feels like he's being pulled closer by the tiny, seamless action. Dimly, he registers a frisbee fly by in the background, the sound of it hitting the grass, teenagers talking and laughing, and it hits him and they are not in their own world right now.

Keith abruptly scoots away, watching as Lance snatches his limbs back to his own sides. The sun is setting behind Lance, creating a halo around his silhouette. 

Keith blinks hard. "I need to—Can you come over tonight?"

"Yes, yeah," Lance answers immediately.

Keith jumps off the bench and leaves without another word.

* * *

Keith opens the front door to his apartment, wasting no time with his apology as Lance walks in. "I'm sorry, I know I was being kind of weird. I don't want to be weird, I just was, I don't know," he notices in the midst of talking that he has more to say that he can't exactly articulate, but he's determined to communicate it as best as possible. "I just don't want to make _ you _ feel weird, or bad, but I know I shouldn't repress feelings and stuff, so I'm gonna do better, and—"

"You're rambling," Lance mumbles, shocked. 

Keith shuffles his feet, confused. "Well, I didn't really say a lot."

"That much is rambling for you," Lance states, eyes stuck directly on Keith's face and nowhere else, unmoving, as if he's staring at an eclipse. "My God, you're... rambling now."

Keith squints at him, outrageously confused, and is on the verge of asking what the hell Lance means by that when the boy in question lunges forward and presses his lips against Keith's, firm and deliberate. He pulls away just as quickly, and Keith would have been certain that the moment had never happened if not for the peach color spread all over Lance's face, and the physical memory of his lips. The unexpected warmth, and subsequent lack thereof.

Lance exhales shakily, but seems to will himself not to look away. "I've wanted to do that since seventh grade," he admits boldly, and the tremor in his voice only hinting that he's barely keeping himself together. His eyes frantically search Keith's, and he quietly pleads, "Say something."

Keith can barely remember that he has a voice of his own. And when he does speak, it cracks with a vulnerability that he has felt too often in too little of a time. 

"I finally accepted it," he whispers, head spinning. "I was finally able to just accept it, and move on."

And this triggers Lance to fuck everything up again by grabbing Keith by the neck and pulling him in, smashing their lips together a second time. Keith chokes back a surprised noise, hands once frozen in the air now desperately gripping Lance's forearms. Lance clings to Keith like a second skin, leaving no space between them, deepening the kiss at a maddening pace. Each rake of his nails through Keith's hair feels like a ripple in the ocean; infinite and uncontrolled. 

Keith doesn't realize he's kissing back ardently until Lance has to pull away for air, nearly knocking his head on the wall. In the same moment, he realizes he's pushed Lance up against the wall. Or had Lance pulled him? 

They both take a moment to catch their breath together. Keith thinks he should at least try to say something, but Lance beats him to the punch, mouthing against Keith's lips and effectively stealing the air out of his lungs, "Don't move on," and dips back into Keith.

This kiss is less rushed, calm and slow, and Keith takes the opportunity to let his senses take over—the way Keith's finger catches on the hem of Lance's binder under the fabric of his shirt, the smell of his shampoo, his soft hums in the heat of the kiss, their shoes bumping each other's as they adjust to their closeness, and thousands of other things. The list is endless.

Deep inside, Keith knows that this isn't the first time anyone has ever felt this way about a kiss, but he prefers to believe it anyway. It sure does make things a lot easier now that he doesn’t have to grieve a metaphorical heart.

* * *

The gates are wide open. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god. writing kiss scenes is fun
> 
> happy 1000000th day of quarantine lmao it really forced me to sit down and write for the first time in a million years. hopefully i can get around to finishing a certain groupchat fic as well 🙄 more on that next time.
> 
> i really hope you guys liked this fic it was near & dear to my heart. 
> 
> please remain in your mf homes and stay safe 💖

**Author's Note:**

> walcom to my [kishen](http://ribosomegirl.tumblr.com/)...


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